her grave. She neither eats nor sleeps, and for the last three
nights has not lain down,--so old Ruth, the housekeeper, tells me.
Yesterday I begged my mistress to let me go for you, but she smiled
that awful freezing smile that strikes to the very marrow of my bones,
worse than December sleet,--and raised her finger so: and said, 'At
your peril, Robert. Mind your orchard, man, and I will take care of
myself. I want neither doctors nor nurses, and only desire that you,
and Ruth, and Anna, will attend to your respective duties and let me
be quiet. All will soon be well with me.' I killed a partridge, had it
nicely broiled, and carried it to her; and she thanked me, and made a
pretence of eating the wing, just to please me; but when the waiter
was taken away to the kitchen, I found all the bird on the plate. This
morning, just before daylight, I heard her playing a wild, mournful
thing on the piano, that sounded like a dirge or a wail; and Ruth says
when she went into the parlor to open the blinds, she found her
praying, and thinks she was on her knees for an hour. Please God!
sometimes I wish she was in heaven with my mother, for she will never
see any peace in this life."

"What seems to be the disease?"

"Heart-ache."

"You should have come and told me this long ago."

"And pray to what purpose, Dr. Grey? She vowed she would allow no
human being to cross her threshold, except the servants, and I would
sooner undertake to curl a steel, or make ringlets out of a pair of
tongs, than bend her will when once she takes a stand. Humph! My
mistress is no willow wand, and is about as easily moved as the
church-steeple, or the stone-tower of the lighthouse."

"Has she recently received letters that contained tidings which
excited or distressed her?"

"A letter came last week, but I know nothing of its contents. You need
not go into the house if you wish to find her, for about an hour and a
half ago I saw her come out into the grounds, and she never goes in
till the lamps are lighted."

An anxious look clouded for an instant Dr. Grey's countenance, but
undaunted hope sang on of the hours of hallowed communion that the
future held, while in her invalid condition he assumed the care and
guardianship of his beloved; and, turning into the lawn, he eagerly
searched the winding walks for some trace of her, some flutter of her
garments, some faint, subtle odor of orange-flowers or tube-roses.

Here and there clusters of purpl